TIMOFEY
"Woof. Chilly," Akim says under his breath.
I glance over. It's a relatively warm night, especially given how late it is. He's in a light shirt and jeans, a gun visible in his waistband.
Then I realized what he meant. "These handoffs are always like that."
The Albanians are allies, but only in the strictest sense of the word. There is no love lost between my Bratva and Kreshnik Xhuvani's mafia. If he wasn't one of my biggest private customers in the tristate area, I'd avoid him.
As it is, he and his ilk are a necessary evil.
"I'm not talking about this." Akim gestures to the warehouse and the Albanian grunts shuttling boxes from the back of my truck to one of their own. "I'm talking about you. You are on edge, man. You're making the guys nervous."
A couple of gunrunners pass by just then. One of them chances a look in my direction before looking away quickly, his eyes wide. They scurry by and keep their heads down.
"What the fuck do you know about 'the guys'? This is only the second time you've ever come with me to a tradeoff."
"Yeah, because Pavel called and told me you banned him from coming with you."
Pavel is fresh out of a bad marriage and preoccupied with screwing everything that moves. The reason I know that is because he can't stop talking about it. The last thing I want after leaving Piper's room is to hear about the inviting pussy of yet another of my lieutenant's sleazy conquests.
"Thank God he sent me a solid backup in his place," I mutter.
"Don't be a wiseass. You know I've backed you up more times than you can count. Remember that brawl on New Years' Eve?"
"You Started that," I scoff. "You hooked up with the bouncer's girlfriend in the bathroom."
"Yeah, and you defended me. And then, when the bouncer came after you, I backed you up. So, y'know, you're welcome." He clears his throat. "Anyway, it's good to get out of the kitchen occasionally. I know I'm a personal chef, but I can be intimidating, too. Why simply cut off a man's finger when you could julienne it?"
I drag a hand down my face. How anyone could ever take this man seriously is beyond me. "We're not cutting off any fingers tonight."
"Not yet," he tuts. "But it's only a matter of time. You're in a mood. Did things with Piper not go to plan again?"
"Everything went fine." But I speak through gritted teeth. The sound of her name is enough to remind me of the unbearable tension I felt standing next to her bed.
The slope of her thighs.
Her scent in my nose.
The way her hand lingered where I put it, perfectly submissive before she even realized what she was doing.
And then the fire when she did realize it. The spark. The feral growl.
Fuck,my cock is hard again already.
"Your knuckles are white." Akim snorts. "Holy shit. This woman is under your skin."
"And you're on my last nerve. Practice a little self-preservation and go help load up. I want this shit over with."
Akim grumbles something about me being a slave driver as he lopes off towards the truck.
"Are you running low on new recruits?" a voice asks.
I turn and see one of the Albanian ringleaders resting against a wooden crate. He's the equivalent of a night manager. Not nearly important enough for me to know his name.
"Excuse me?"
He jerks his chin to where Akim is now laughing with a group of Albanians. Leave it to him to make pals within seconds. "That's your chef, ain't it?"
"What the fuck do you care?"
Akim wasn't just blowing smoke when he said he can be more than a chef. Still, he struggles to be taken seriously in our world no matter how many times he proves himself. I know a fair number of dead men who would argue that he's proved himself just fine. Unfortunately for him, dead men aren't very good at talking.
The Albanian stands up, arms crossed over his chest. "I don't care who you bring with you. What I care about is what you're doing with all the money we're paying you. Is that why this shipment costs almost twice what it normally does? So you can keep your little errand boy on the bankroll?"
"You aren't paying me a fucking thing. If you were, I'd know your name."
His face reddens, but he takes a daring step closer to me. A few of his men edge in around us. I think they're mostly curious to hear our conversation, but I have no doubt a few of them might be stupid enough to play hero if things go south.
His jaw clenches. "Just 'cause you're some CEO by day doesn't mean shit. You ain't better than me 'because of that."
"You're right. I'm better than you for many other reasons." I lift my arm and tug my sleeve up, revealing the snowstorm of black dots on the inside of my wrist. "I keep a tally of men I've killed here. It's not quite up to date, but it's close enough."
The rest of the room is getting quieter. I know my voice is carrying in the warehouse, but I don't give a flying fuck. If this asshole wants to make an example of himself, I'm happy to oblige. The more who see it, the merrier.
"You're probably more forgiving than I am, too. More patient, for sure." I give him a flat shark's smile. "Because when people who don't know their place start to run their mouths to me, I get angry. I get very, very angry." I'm pacing closer to him now as I speak, each word dribbling out of my lips like drops of blood. "And when I get angry, I start adding dots to my collection. Do you understand what I'm telling you?"
"Hey, man, easy," he says. He's starting to sense the tide changing. His moment of bravado has passed and a lifetime of regret is about to follow. However much of a lifetime he has left, that is. He shifts back half a step. "I didn't mean—"
"Timofey," Akim interrupts, floating in next to me. "Making new friends?"
"I'm giving our friend here a lesson. I'm almost done, actually."
Akim blows out a breath. "Okay. Great. Well, skip to the end, please."
I can tell by the tone of his voice that he knows what's coming. But he has the good sense to stay out of my way.
"Lastly," I say, reaching into my holster and pulling out my gun, "I'd bet I'm a much better shot."
The blast echoes off the cement floor and metal roof. It's a hollow, grating echo broken up only by the thud of the man's body hitting the floor with a bloody hole where his right eye once was.
For a second, there is no movement. Everyone is too stunned to breathe.
Then chaos erupts.
Shouts bounce off the walls in Russian and Albanian. Some men scatter; others draw closer. I hear Akim curse just as the soldiers in front of me split and Arber Xhuvani comes running through the line.
"What thefuck, Timofey?" he bellows. The heir to the Albanian throne looks down at his dead soldier, his nostrils flared and eyes wild.
I pocket my gun. "I hope you brought along some towels, Arber. Bit of a mess there."
"What the hell happened?"
"Your man was out of line," I explained. "I nudged him back into place as an example to the others."
"This is what a nudge looks like?" Arber looks like he is about to burst. This is only the third time he's headed up an arms deal without his father present. Kreshnik has been training his son since he was too small to speak to take over for him, and now that Arber has come of age, they're finally beginning that transition of power.
"If you'd rather use a gentler approach, catch your men before they speak to me. Your father never would have let something like this happen."
"My father isn't here," he snaps.
"Which is the entire fucking problem," I snarl. "Get control of your soldiers before I have to do it for you."
Arber crosses the distance between us in a few strides, bringing his chest to mine. "Is that a threat? Are you looking to overthrow my family? I'll make sure you don't live to regret it if you try."
Only youthful pride could make this idiot believe I'd want anything at all to do with the Xhuvani mafia. Unfortunately, Arber has plenty of that to spare.
In a flash, I wrap a hand around his neck and use the other to press my gun to his temple. He tenses up. His breath is trapped in his throat.
"Hey, Timofey," Akim says, his voice laughably casual. "I think we've made enough friends tonight."
"My finger is off the trigger," I tell him. Then I turn my full attention to the Kreshnik boy. "I just want Arber here to know that if I wasn't in such a good mood, he could be dead right now."
"You wouldn't dare," Arber rasps.
I arch my brows. "I'd advise you not to fuck with me."
He swallows uncomfortably. His throat bobs in my palm. "If you kill me, it will be war."
"A war I'll win. I have nothing to lose."
He thinks about that for a moment and then the fight starts to drain out of him. I release him with a shove and he stumbles a few steps.
"The only thing keeping you from beingthat," I say, pointing from Arber to the dead man on the floor to illustrate my point, "is that I've already killed one person today and it's growing tedious. You may be Kreshnik's son, but you aren't special. Fuck with me, and I'll kill you."
I turned away from him and addressed my men. "Leave the rest of the boxes in the truck. Arber can explain to his father why he didn't receive the full shipment."
Then I turn and leave without another word.
A few seconds later, Akim jogs to catch up with me. He shakes his head. "And to think things were tense before."